


Heartline

by Aithilin



Series: Fresh Start [14]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx remembers the day that Noct got that tattoo.





	Heartline

“I remember when you got this done,” Nyx said as he traced a finger along the thin line on Noctis’ throat, pausing to feel the strong and steady pulse beneath the familiar tattoo. “Took my ages to find the right artist. Even longer to convince Ignis to give up the money from his carefully prepared budget.”

He remembered the heat of the city and the search through the refugees that had fled Insomnia after that first night without the protections of the Wall. He remembered the way Noct— his Noct, the young man and frightened prince, too stubborn to admit to the fear— had squirmed under the promise of pain from the ink and needle and the mechanical buzz once things had started. He remembered tangling a hand in dark hair as the artist worked quickly and carefully, and smiling as he muttered the soft, seemingly ancient nickname against Noct’s lips. 

“You kept asking if I was sure about it,” Noct responded, relaxed beneath the touch, head tilted to the side as Nyx admired. As Nyx paused at a scar that had nearly cut through the thin ink of the heartline tattoo and followed the foreign line with a kiss. 

“Yes, well, you were too pretty to mark up, little king,” it was soft and muttered, warm breath ghosting across pale skin before Nyx pulled away again. “ _Myshka_.”

“Haven’t heard that in years.”

“I should hope not. Unless you have someone else hanging around on these islands who I should kill?”

“Well now I can’t tell you,” Noct chuckled, even as he shifted and pulled his lover back down for a kiss. 

They had retreated to their bed after hours of helping Ignis develop a menu for the bar. After hours of writing out recipes and ingredients and planning for the experimental tastes. They had retreated— a strategic manoeuvre, to avoid inspiring even more ideas now that Ignis was back in his own familiar kingdom— after calling Libertus to decide when the vacation was over, and when the bar should be opened again. 

At first, Nyx had focused on the healing wounds. Clinical hands on the stitches and setting clean bandages, searching for the painkillers kept close. As Noct eased back into their bed with a groan and voiced regret at ever having gone downstairs in the first place. As they tried to stay quiet as they heard Ignis navigate the guest room before he settled down in his new home for the first night with the air clear between three of them. With the memories no longer rushing back in waves, but slipping into place as the Astral magic that had created the disconnect wore itself down against reality. 

“You never mentioned my heartline before,” Noct stretched enough to turn off the bedside lamp, smirking in the dark as Nyx huffed his disapproval at the movement. 

“You said you had a Galahdian lover before, little star,” Nyx moved from above Noct to next to the younger man, still firm in holding Noct in place as he settled them both into bed. “I’m not about to go poking at those old wounds.”

“At least it wasn’t a lie.”

“No, at least there’s that.” Nyx kept a hand on Noct’s throat— thumb stroking along the pulse point, gentle touch loose and grounding. After weeks of sorting between memories and fantasy and going back a decade to understand just what was real and what had been fabricated by the kindness of the Astrals, Nyx still wanted to keep that connection between them through a simple touch. He still wanted the anchor of knowing that Noct— his Noct, his dorky, smiling, strange prince— was still with him. “I missed you, _myshka_.”

“You don’t need to call me that.”

“I want to.”

“I’ll add it to the list of nicknames, then.”

“There aren’t that many.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you even remember my name.”

“Your name is a mouthful, kitten.”

“Right,” Nyx could hear the smile in Noct’s voice. He could close his eyes and see the memories merge now. He could connect where the smile of this older man— this tired hunter who was used to taking a beating— to the shy smile of the prince who’s hand he held as the best Galahdian tattoo artist he could find over a decade ago finished her work. He let his hand trail down from the marking to the scars he wished weren’t there. The scar, straight and sharp and through Noct’s heart, that Nyx wished he could have taken instead. “Stop thinking, hero.”

“I’m always thinking.”

“Since when?”

“Ouch, little star.” 

“Go to sleep, you idiot.”

“Soon.” His eyes adjusted to the dark of the room enough to see the beads twisted into Noct’s hair; he could remember the little charms for good dreams that used to be braided in every night when they travelled through Eos. Now there were proper braids there— Ulric marks and beads and a clan the man could belong too, that Nyx could pretend he was rebuilding. 

He could see the tired exasperation on Noct’s features as the man tried struggled between ignoring the touch and leaning closer to the source of it. He could see the familiar mischief that had never left Noct, and the new exhaustion that had settled in. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to answer yet.”

“No, you can’t kill the Astrals.”

“Yes I can, but that’s not what I’m going to ask.”

“Fine, ask so I can go to sleep.”

Nyx shifted in the bed enough to press a kiss to the corner of Noct’s mouth, and smiled as his lover turned towards the affection. He thought of the man he had loved since before the fall of a kingdom, and of the dogtags that had been tangled in among Noct’s weapons since he was dragged back home from the mountain path. He thought back to those little pieces of metal stamped with Noct’s name and his blood ran cold at the idea of having only those coming home to him one day. “I want you to stop hunting.”

There’s a long silence, before Noct spoke; “That’s not a question, hero.”

“Will you stop hunting?” Another kiss and Nyx prepared for the tension that he knew would come, the indignant response, the insistence that he had no right to ask for something like that. 

Noct simply hummed softly against his lips. “You don’t want me to answer right away.”

“No, I want you to think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Noct shifted in the bed, reached enough to pull the light blankets over them. Nyx resisted the urge to scold for the unnecessary stress to the stitches and wounds, and instead settled his arm across Noct’s waist. “Is this your idea of a marriage proposal?”

“Six, no,” it came out in a rushed huff of air— caught in a laugh at the absurdity. “We were married the minute you let me put those braids in your hair.”

“Really?”

“No. Go to sleep, little star.”


End file.
